


just close your eyes

by wolfwalkerspirit



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Childhood Friends AU, College AU, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25681621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwalkerspirit/pseuds/wolfwalkerspirit
Summary: “‘Bellamy,’ Clarke groans, exasperated, burying her face in her folded arms lying on the table between the two of them. It’s almost four o’clock in the morning. She hasn’t slept in something like twenty-one (twenty-two?) hours, hasn’t eaten hardly anything since sitting down to study what feels like an eternity ago. The December rain blocking out the moonlight and casting something cold and dreary over the world is seriously depressing, especially at night. She’s cold, even with a blanket draped haphazardly over her shoulders, and she’s tired. And now Bellamy has a cold foot halfway up her pant leg, leeching whatever warmth she was managing to hold onto.”orBellamy and Clarke pull an all-nighter.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 60





	just close your eyes

“Bellamy,” Clarke groans, exasperated, burying her face in her folded arms lying on the table between the two of them. It’s almost four o’clock in the morning. She hasn’t slept in something like twenty-one (twenty-two?) hours, hasn’t eaten hardly anything since sitting down to study what feels like an eternity ago. The December rain blocking out the moonlight and casting something cold and dreary over the world is seriously depressing, especially at night. She’s cold, even with a blanket draped haphazardly over her shoulders, and she’s tired. And now Bellamy has a cold foot halfway up her pant leg, leeching whatever warmth she was managing to hold onto. Halfheartedly, she swats at his leg, only managing to catch the fabric of his sweatpants. 

“Can’t we give it a rest?” he sighs in reply, sounding every bit as dead and exhausted as she feels. And when she glances up, painstakingly pulling her head from her arms, he sort of looks it too. 

“No, not until you get this.” She could make a joke about how she has to help someone a year ahead of her study, but she already has, and she doesn’t have the energy right now. She can make sure Bellamy never lives down his abysmal biochem grades another day. Instead she grabs him by the ankle and shoves his foot back in his direction, curling her legs underneath herself to protect them from the cold. “Can’t you wear socks?” she mumbles under her breath. Though, Bellamy’s still sharp enough to catch it. Or, maybe it’s just so quiet in the young hours of the morning that everything seems a little louder. 

“I’ll put them on if you let me go to bed,” he bargains, something of an easy smile just beginning to slip across his features. Even now, it reaches his eyes, crinkles them at the corners in a way her heart still isn’t quite sure how to handle. She thought, back when she first saw those deep doe eyes years ago, that she would get used to the way he looked at her. But, as it turns out, smiling eyes and easy, melting expressions never lose their charm. 

Clarke can’t help the low laugh rising in her chest, fond, amused, maybe a little delirious with the time, so she doesn’t try to hide it. She props her chin on her hand, laughs until it fades into a smile, and just for a moment, ignores the notebook under her elbow. Everyone needs breaks sometimes, she figures, but she still shakes her head lightly at Bellamy’s bargaining chip. “Is that really the best offer you’ve got?” It’s a challenge, an indulgence, and it makes him grin with that mischievous edge.

“Oh, I can do better,” he says, so sure of himself. 

“Yeah?” Clarke questions. She takes a moment to brush some stray hair back behind her ear. And she’d never noticed him doing it before, but now, she watches Bellamy’s gaze follow her fingertips before flitting back to meet her eyes. 

“I’ll buy you coffee tomorrow. Whatever stupidly expensive, sugary drink you want,” he tries. All the while, he spins his pencil between his fingers. Before, when she asked him why he did that so often, he said it helped him think, kept his hands busy. It still seems more like a party trick to Clarke.

“You should do that just for me helping you not fail your exam. You don’t really want to end up graduating the same year as me, do you?” It’s a tease, a jab, and he knows it. He just ducks his head a little, looking down at his hands with messy curls falling to cover his eyes. But Clarke still catches the canine exposed in his smile. 

“Ouch, Clarke. You’re ruthless,” he remarks, but she can hear the curve of his lips in the words. He’s easy to read, she’s learned, as long as you know what to look for. 

“Try again, and maybe I’ll let you take a nap.” Though, like this, playing this little game of theirs, the exhaustion seems to fade a little. Without the monotony of reading through notes, helping Bellamy through the snags and questions, early morning feels a little more pleasant. Not that she would turn down the chance to sleep, though. It’s just a little more muted when she can turn the studious side of her mind off for a minute and go back and forth with Bellamy. 

“What about that movie you wanted to see? I’ll go with you so you don’t have to go by yourself,” he offers, though it sounds more halfhearted this time, like coffee was his best plan and he’s working through second choices now. 

“Octavia’s coming with me,” she counters. A grin’s pulling at her lips, and she leans more on her propped arm, gazing across the table at Bellamy. He really must be tired, she figures, or he would come up with something more clever. Even if biochem isn’t his strong suit, he’s scarily smart when he wants to be, or needs to be. 

For a moment, he just hums in consideration, picking up with the spinning of his pencil again. It’s quiet, save for the rain tapping against the window, and the low whir of the space heater struggling the keep the room out of icy temperatures. Waiting, Clarke lets out a breath, eases the day’s tension from her shoulders with a small stretch. She figures her legs will be stiff later, from sitting at Bellamy’s little study table on the floor, but it’s a problem for later, because she isn’t stretching back to where he can reach her with an icy foot again. 

“If you were someone else, I’d offer to kiss you,” Bellamy finally muses, low and thoughtful. 

If she weren’t a longstanding friend, Clarke guesses he means. Or, maybe he just knew she would turn him down, too intent on studying to get distracted by something silly like that. In any case, she indulges the thought a little, thinks it over. 

“Is a kiss really all that convincing? I think you can do better,” she says. 

“You’ve never kissed me,” he counters, a smug smile on his lips. Where he gets his confidence from, she’ll never know. But, it’s charming, convincing, especially when she’s tired and doesn’t have the presence of mind to roll her eyes or shove his shoulder. 

“I’ve never kissed anyone.” Clarke lets the words slip without thinking, their foolish all-nighter slowing her mind and loosening her tongue. Though, as soon as the weight of the notion starts to hang in the air, she regrets it, wishes she could go back and try again. But she can’t, and she’s left to endure Bellamy’s open, genuine gaze, surprise written between the finer, more careful lines. 

“What about that guy in high school?” Bellamy asks eventually when the shock clears a little. Though, Clarke can still feel heat on her cheeks at the admission.

“Finn?” she asks, a little flustered, and Bellamy nods in return. “I told you, he had a girlfriend he wasn’t telling me about. Raven, I think. I don’t care how much I liked him; I wasn’t about to kiss someone like that.”

“But before you found out?” 

“I don’t know. We were taking it slow I guess?” she answers. Running her free hand back through her hair, she turns her gaze away from Bellamy’s, looking out the window instead. The glass is damp with condensation, fogged up around the edges. And it’s easier to watch than Bellamy’s searching gaze. 

For what feels like a long time, the seconds ticking into minutes, neither of them say anything more. Bellamy’s quiet, somehow both too close and too far on the other side of the table, and Clarke can’t bring herself to change the subject. To push them back to their studying. She knows she should, for her own injured pride and Bellamy’s grades, but it feels too much like deflecting. So, they sit and listen to the rain and quiet breaths filling the space until Bellamy shifts, bringing a knee to his chest and resting his chin on it. 

“Do you want to, now?” he asks, quiet, honest. 

The question jolts Clarke out of her thoughts, and for a moment, her mind has trouble catching up, stitching words into meaning. “Do I want to what?” she asks in reply. 

“Kiss someone,” he answers, and it sounds so raw and genuine, so far from a flippant whim, that Clarke’s heart beats a little faster. For a moment, all she can do is blink back at him, taken by surprise. But she starts thinking, starts wondering, and wonders if it’s actually an offer worth considering. Daytime Clarke would brush him off, tell him to quit joking. But she’s never seen him quite like this, all vulnerable and sweet. She’s never felt that low pull in the pit of her stomach, something like longing or desire. 

Clarke wants to say yes. Instead, she breaks away from his gaze for a moment, only to be drawn back in after a beat. “Are you serious?” she asks, even though the trusting part of her knows. Bellamy might love to tease her, but not like this. He wouldn’t put that offer out unless he meant it.

He nods, swallows hard, and Clarke feels her traitorous heart flutter a little in her chest. Hope and anticipation. Even though she’s been nothing more than friends with him for years. But she can’t deny the pull, the appeal, even if she can rationalize it away. It’s just a chance to put her first kiss behind her, to learn and experience. That’s it. And she only feels so comfortable because it’s Bellamy. Because she trusts him. Not because she feels anything more for him. 

“Yeah, okay,” she breathes against her better judgement, and it feels like a weight off her chest. 

Across the table, Bellamy smiles a little, just the edge of a grin catching at his lips, and it’s so fond it makes Clarke’s heart ache. “You sure?” he asks. It’s easy and familiar, the raise of a brow, the light tone. And it helps settle the nerves just starting to fray under her skin. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Come over here.”

For just a moment, Bellamy hesitates, like he wasn’t sure he would get this far, then he’s standing, stepping around the table to meet her on the other side. And when he sits down, he settles close, sliding in front of her so he can face her, just off to the side of her stretched out legs. His foot brushes the side of her hip with the way he sits cross-legged, and there’s something absent and easy about the way his fingertips trail across her knee. Yet, it pulls something jittery into Clarke’s pulse all the same, turns her stomach with anticipation. 

Normally, she’s totally at ease under Bellamy’s touch. It’s something she learned early on, that he’s more physical than wordy, and a touch communicates a thousand words more than he ever says. Whether it’s the way he pulls her in close when he can tell she’s been crying, or the rough but friendly hits they trade messing around in the rain after she splashes him with a puddle, it’s just how Bellamy is. And Clarke’s no stranger to his hands, bigger and rougher than her own, or the warmth of his skin. Still, it feels different now, in the small hours of the morning with the promise of more lingering between them. 

She’s a little dizzy when he runs a hand down her cheek, slips it farther down to cradle her jaw, and she wishes she could blame it on exhaustion. But the heat and color dusting across her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, say different. Nerves tangle with something warmer in her chest, and for just a beat, her gaze flickers to his lips. But, the closer he leans in, the more she gives into it and lets her eyes fall half lidded. A deep breath in to settle her pulse only floods her senses with Bellamy, warm spice with a hint of salt. 

Then, he leans in and kisses her. 

He’s careful and gentle, just a soft press of lips against hers. But, it feels nice and Clarke closes her eyes, sinking into the slow rhythm of it all. Like ocean waves, a subtle push and pull. And there’s the warmth of his hand on her jaw, his lips on hers, his chest leaned in closer. 

Still, Bellamy eases back just a fraction of an inch, enough to mumble a quiet, smug, “you’re nervous,” against her lips. Something of a laugh bubbles in her chest, because, yeah, she is. But she keeps it trapped there and closes the gap between them again, because she’s also enjoying this more than she thought she would, and she wants to know more. 

And, this time, Bellamy takes a little more control. With the hand on her jaw, he tips her chin up just a little, adjusts the angle a bit, and Clarke can’t help the way her heart beats harder in her chest, unbidden and fond. Then, his free hand threads into her hair, settles at the nape of her neck, and everything melts into place. The lines of tension running through her shoulders fall away, and the ball of nerves in her stomach unknots. And even if there’s still something slow and lazy in his movements, he isn’t quite so cautious, pressing just a little more, taking advantage when her lips part around an airy sigh. 

She doesn’t even remember reaching out, but her hands find purchase at his shoulders, gathering the loose t-shirt and flannel there. And as the moments stretch into one another, the realization slowly bleeds into her consciousness that she understands why people would enjoy this. Because some part of her is content to tuck away tests and responsibilities in favor of melting into this lazy kiss. 

She lets it go on far, far longer than she ever intended, lost in the warmth of Bellamy, and the easy way everything seems to fit between them. It’s hard to remember a reason to stop when everything is muffled beneath the pleasant haze in her mind. Everything else seems far away, studies nothing but a tiny thorn at the edges of her awareness. Though, eventually, when the twilit beginnings of dawn start to shine on the horizon (when did the rain clouds disappear?), she remembers where she is, what they’re supposed to be doing, why they were pulling an all-nighter to begin with. It wasn’t just to make out for who knows how long, that’s for sure. 

By the time they break apart, Clarke’s trembling just a little, new desires blooming under her skin. And even if it’s something of a storm cloud, brewing slow in her chest, in the pit of her stomach, there’s some unfamiliar kind of affection, of attraction, there when she looks at Bellamy. And when she takes in the hazy look in his eyes, the deeper pink tint to his lips, the flush creeping up his neck, the realization dawns on her that this is a side of him she’s never seen before. And, more groundingly, that it’s a side she wants to see again. It hits her that she kissed Bellamy Blake, and that she wants to do it again, history and friendship aside. 

Still, she tucks that simmering longing away, deep down. Instead, she clears her throat, tentatively wipes her lips with the back of a wrist, and tucks a few tussled strands of hair back behind her ear. For his part, Bellamy leans back, even if he doesn’t move around to the other side of the table again, humming a low, noncommittal noise low in his throat. 

And when he speaks up, the slight rasp in his voice is everything Clarke never knew she wanted to hear. “Does that earn me a nap?” he asks, trading in a mildly dazed gaze for the edges of a wolffish grin. Even if it’s all teasing, he still sounds tired, and the lavender dawn splashing across the sky seems perfect for sleeping under. 

More often than not anymore, Clarke can’t say no to Bellamy. For as much as they argue and tease, there’s just something in those doe eyes, the little half smiles, that she can’t resist. “If you share you’re bed,” she answers, finally giving in. “It’s freezing in here.” 

She could go back to her own dorm. They both know it, both know they aren’t getting anymore studying done before Bellamy’s seven o’clock test, but he only softens that sharp edged grin into something softer. He won’t make her walk back in the cold. 

“Deal.”


End file.
